


Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen

by labasu



Category: Death Note
Genre: I just wanted to get this over with, M/M, also mad deadbeat dad/mental issues whooops, sex between indviduals whose ages? aren't really? said? idk, this is as finished as it's going to get, warnings for sexxxxx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labasu/pseuds/labasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Lyson's fic Mutt: http://archiveofourown.org/works/562750/chapters/1005718?view_adult=true</p><p>Near bangs his mom's boyfriend and fucks around. That's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [MuTT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/562750) by [Lyson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyson/pseuds/Lyson). 



> [Shows up to MuTT week months late, with Starbucks] What did I miss
> 
> So this has been languishing as an unfinished, not really loved story on my hard drive. Decided I'd just upload it as it was. In true MuTT fashion, it's kind of a realist, taken from irl work, so I guess that's also why it was hard for me to edit or try anything clever with this. Idk. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE NEAR/STEPHEN DADDY KINK FOLKS

His knees should hurt after spending so much time kneeling in front of Stephen, but the rainbow foam floor mats (shaped like puzzles, bought during that Ikea trip where Near was almost lost underneath the ball pit), cushioned him well, as it had done for many a blowjob and floorfuck too impatient for climbing into bed. In fact, the foam now left indents for him, two small marks where his knees dug into as he would suck his step-daddy's cock, slurping hungrily and leaving globs of saliva dripping all over Stephen's shiny oxford shoes.

Near rubbed his face against Stephen's crotch, mouth wetting the fabric with small sucks. He gnawed slightly, tasting Stephen's musk and faint remnants of fabric softener, the same brand his mother uses on Near's bedding. He let the flavour get bland in his mouth before moving lower, his lips kissing at the outline of Stephen's dick. Stephen panted harder and his nails started to dig into the back of Near's neck, he's going to make his step-daddy cum his pants, he's sure of it... but then they heard the sound of keys turning.

By the time his mother called for help carrying the groceries in, Stephen was making his way downstairs; his hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants, Near still sitting in his room, holding Stephen's briefs to his face, breathing in deep.

 

* * *

 

He liked the skate park best when it was too dark. Near would buy a gallon of goat milk from Whole Foods, $20 worth of beef jerky from 7/11 and handful of lychees from H-Mart, then sit underneath the streetlight overlooking the steepest curve in the concrete bowl.

Stray cats, the kind that were suburb-fat and used to the kindness of nice neighbourhoods, would emerge if he stayed late enough, when the sun wasn't due for at least an hour or two. They'd lap away at milk Near poured into his cupped hands.

Who's taking advantage of who here, he'd ask them, and they'd mewl for more milk. Near would pour again.

-

California is all sun-kissed, fast food, faster cars, bad traffic. There are parties with people he doesn't give a shit about, who do not listen when he explains the importance of sunscreen. L had been the only one to agree that sunscreen's merits were vastly unappreciated by the tan aging public, and in that moment, Near swore to himself he would try to make a friend.

 

* * *

 

 

While sipping Bailey's, Near had watched the new kid get completely wasted in two hours, plowing through beers and walking around aimlessly, avoiding direct eye contact but still somehow looking like he was looking for someone.

At some point, he had stumbled onto Near.

“You shouldn't be here,” he had told Light. “You look like you're going to pass out.”

Light had babbled, Near replied accordingly, and then Light went off to literally piss off.

  
Sure they were a clique of drugged up teen scum, but they were just like any other teen clique really, and he didn't see why Light had latched onto them so fervently, assimilating so fast. He protested often, but he always went through with whatever fucked up shenanigan the gang would put him through. It was remarkable how someone so straight-laced was easy to coerce into doing almost anything. The game they played with him, of choosing between lesser evils, only hid the game Near cared to watch, the game of Light losing any semblance of backbone and conforming to everything the gang did or winning his own comfort levels within the group like Near had done.

In another life, maybe that willingness to descent into degradation would be useful. Now, watching the vine Mello had just uploaded of Light grinding against Misa, a girl he had pushed off his lap just hours ago, Near just sees a loser.

 

* * *

 

  
They snort up, they party, they go to the skate park, and fuck around.

It's not a very interesting life, and they're pretty awful people, but he's sure out there boys like Yagami used to be think they're hot shit.

Near took a long chug from his sippy cup filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon, as he kept lookout while Mello and Matt stuffed Hawaiian Breeze candles into a knapsack. They left Bed Bath & Beyond (the latter word Beyond's namesake since he had first started shoplifting there) with enough stolen wax to polish their skateboards for the next three months.

 

* * *

 

 

“He doesn't swim. He was nearly drowned once.”

Near didn't bother correcting L. For all intents and purposes, he was right anyway – Near didn't swim, or at least, swim with anyone nearby.

He was seven the last time he had swam with someone. His parents let him wade in a hotel resort's shallow end, hugging his inflatable ducky float and kick-kick-kicking still waters, each leg swinging as hard as he could. His father stood beside him in the pool, watching over Near. He wore red floral trunks and just a strip of white lotion down his nose. The rest of his face and body were pink, an ugly sight of ruined baked skin Near would strive to avoid when he was older, with a rigorous UVB and UVA protection regime. His mother was dozing in a puke-green lounge chair, all the way across, by the deep end. Her skin would stick from sweat to the plastic, but thanks to a generous pool boy's liberal application of Banana Boat, she would not burn.

It was while the pool boy had been lathering up his mother that his father had decided to let him drown.

Near had been struggling to keep afloat for several minutes already. He had gotten tired of pretending to be strong, and tugged at his father's trunks, wailing to be carried out.

His father had remain silent. He stared at Near's mother, still slick and shining from the pool boy's ministrations, and did not move, not even when Near's grip slipped from his trunks. The ducky float drifted away from Near as he waved his arms wildly, choking on water as he yelled for his father.

The rush of water up his nose and mouth quickly stunned Near, leaving him motionless as he started to sink towards the bottom of the pool, panic causing him to choke and drink more water in, and his vision to go dark. Before fading into nothing, Near saw the sunlight bounced off the pool's surface, a pink back turn and his father watch him go down.

In the terror of death, Near's mind spun past the sensations of pain and shock. Emotions only muted what was important. It focused on record-keeping, on time, on the numbers that made up the seconds between safety and danger.

Even a decade later, Near perfectly recalls each instant in those seven minutes and forty three seconds before his father called for help.

 

* * *

 

 

A month later, when his father took three suitcases with him, his mother threw him an ugly look Near had never seen before.

 

* * *

 

 

Near's a teenager. It's the part of him that made him slutty like this, Near reasoned, wearing only a soaked t-shirt and bouncing on his step-daddy's lap. Just enough to make the lounge chair they were on creak.

Why did he go swimming wearing his pajamas, Stephen had asked, and Near had shrugged, pointed to his face where his mother had slapped him last week, after catching Stephen watching Near swim in his trunks from the balcony. And then Stephen had kissed it better, a lie of a cure on a completely fine cheek, but Near obliged him anyway, and they wound up fucking by the pool.

Stephen was gripping his hips and slamming him down, every time making Near tremble and convulse, as he held onto the shaking arm rests for support to ride his step-daddy's cock deeper.

He wanted so badly to bite down, leave red marks that claimed Stephen as his, belonging to him and not his mother, fuck, he would be such a good wife, a better wife, he'd fuck him any way he wanted and let him go in bareback, he'd lap up all of his cum like a good boy, he'd bounce on his lap like this every night, hell, he'd call him daddy, and Near mumbled some of that into Stephen's ear. It drove Stephen wild, especially the last part, and the rhythm got relentless and ruining, Near moaned and repeated “daddy, fuck me, daddy, please” over and over until Stephen lost himself in fucking Near so hard that when he came, it dripped down Near's already wet inner thighs and looked like thinned sunscreen that Near licked off, the rest he smeared slowly all over his cock. Stephen mentioned this as he started to jerk Near off, sliding one hand to cup Near's ass and the other to stroke Near to release, then added given how much sunscreen Near goes through, he's probably sunproof and cums SPF 1000.

“Higher SPF loses value somewhere past SPF 45, which blocks 98 per cent of UVB rays. No sunscreen can offer complete coverage,” Near said, leaning in to mouth at the tip of Stephen's tie. It was cheap, polyester, and smelled of his mother's perfume, the one in the bottle shaped like a teddy bear.

She had bought the tie with his AmEx black card last year for their anniversary, and Near almost smiled remembering how Stephen had fucked him senseless in their stupidly soft ultra king-sized canopy bed while she had been off hmmhawwing in the bargain section of Rite-Aid.

It's with this memory, of begging for Stephen not to pull out while sinking into the down duvet covers, that Near finally came, Stephen's hips snapped to grind himself against Near's ass as Near made a long broken sound before he painted Stephen's stomach with white streaks, then fell against Stephen's chest. He didn't move from there, until Stephen carried him to his room and he rolled into bed, letting Stephen clean him up as he started to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Three months into Stephen marrying his mother, Near was down from 200 mg of Zoloft to 25 mg. He'd been on the drug since he was eight, and rises of feeling had started to come back to his body. It wasn't as if he was a robot like Mello teased, but there was a blunting to everything Near heard and saw.

His father's funeral had been a surreal experience. Two years after he had left them, he had been struck by a drunk driver. Despite only three people attending, himself and the priest included, he found the mourning and crying throughout the service excessive.

It was hard for Near to explain. But the less he took, the more his body started to feel previously toned down emotions. Hanging out with Mello and his new friends was genuinely exciting, and he'd get tingles of adrenaline whenever they met up to shoot the shit.

There were downsides. The really bad days got even worse, and bursts of anger became more frequent. His friends were there to help him deal, and eventually he started to taper enough to start smoking again, which improved Mario Kart by a longshot.

A whole new sensation had also started to occur, one he figured puberty had skipped out on for him.

When his mother had brought Stephen around the first time, he'd just been another ex-government boy toy slinking in her boudoir, leaving his credit cards on the glass coffee table in the living room. As his visits became more frequent, Stephen even did the thing all men who fucked his mother did, and bought him gifts that slowly became more extravagant: 1000-piece blank puzzles, the latest editions of gundam figurines, new video games complete with expansion packs. Near's favourite was the hand-carved wooden trains Stephen gave him for Christmas that made harmless water steam rise from the smokestack and puff into Near's face.

Stephen wouldn't give anything to Near directly, and mostly left things in Near's room for him to discover. They rarely had any face-to-face contact, apart from nodding at each other across breakfast on the mornings Stephen slept in. Stephen worked at a bank, in the Counterfeiting Department, and was usually gone by daybreak. His mother worked for Federal Severance, and they had met when Stephen left his CIA gig and needed to pick up his three-years termination package. One date led to another, or as his mother had put it, eating dinner out led to eating her out, and here Stephen was.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he realized he wanted Stephen was over breakfast.

His mother had left before Stephen or Near had awoken, leaving a plastic-wrapped plate of smoked salmon and poached eggs with a lipstick-smooched sticky note asking Stephen if he would babysit Near near the microwave.

Stephen didn't work on Sundays and the gang wasn't up to anything, so the both of them found themselves eating together. Near wasn't fond of small talk, and neither was Stephen, so they had turned the TV on and let it play a daytime talk show. Stephen would laugh whenever the host made a particularly good joke, a deep throaty sound that made Near squirm for some reason.

Then, Near started to notice other things: how large Stephen's hands were, reaching across the table for the jug of orange juice; how much Stephen's adam's apple bobbed, when he gulped his drink down; how his face would look perfect if Near was sitting on it.

It wasn't until Near deliberately dropped his fork to peek his head under the table, saw that Stephen wasn't wearing anything underneath his bathrobe, and excused himself for a 20-minute bathroom visit that Near made it his life's goal to fuck his mother's boyfriend senseless.

 

* * *

 

 

Surprisingly, his life's goal only took two weeks to accomplish.

The next time Stephen was over, and after his mother had left for lunch out with friends, Near wore an almost see-through shirt with a sailor collar that was loose on his shoulders and high-waisted denim shorts that were tight on his hips. They were his mother's clothes he'd found in the back of her closet, but he doubted she'd been able to fit into them for years.

Stephen was swimming leisurely, a bottle of Malibu, a single wide-mouthed glass and his Ray-Bans on the patio table by the poolside. Near poured himself a glass and sipped, wishing he hadn't finished off the gallon of pineapple juice in the fridge the day before so he could have mixed it with the rum. He lied himself down on the lounge chair, all-black wicker that made him hotter than he should have been.

After several laps, Stephen climbed out of the pool. Noticing Near was outside, he waved and jogged slowly over. It made Near swallow and his resolution waver as Stephen, dripping and almost naked, came close.

“Feel refreshed?” Near asked, pouring a refill in the glass and passing it to Stephen.

Stephen seemed to pause, staring at Near for a second before nodding and swallowing his drink in one gulp.

“Trying out a new look, I see,” Stephen said. “It's good on you.”

Near spread his legs slightly, pretending to straighten his shorts out. “Really?” He gave Stephen a purposely slow look-over. “I can say the same for your look.”

Stephen laughed, a bit too fast, and then reached over for the towel draped behind Near's head. Drops of water fell on Near's face, trickling under his collar. Near let out a tiny moan, then reached out to hold onto Stephen's arm.

“I'm so hot right now,” Near said quietly, making Stephen's wet fingers trail down his face. “Can you do me a favour?”

Near gestured at the bottle of sunscreen underneath the table.

Stephen gaped at him. Near knew he was just feigning surprise. Stephen was pretty good at pretending things (like orgasms, if he were to believe his mother's hushed gossip over the corded telephone), but the way his tongue kept licking his lips gave him away.

“I can't reach my back,” Near added, turning over in his seat and lifting his shirt up.

With his eyes facing the chair, he couldn't see how Stephen was reacting. But after a moment, there was the cooling sensation of sunscreen applied to his nape and massaged lower down.

Near hummed in satisfaction, arching his back to meet Stephen's hands better. He could hear Stephen breathing a bit harder as he reached Near's lower back, and decided to cut the man a break and turn over again.

“Do you think you could do my legs?” Near asked, parting them even wider, so that Stephen could see up his shorts and that he wasn't wearing anything under them. Near watched Stephen's eye's grow darker, or maybe it was the shade of the beach parasol above. Either way, Stephen did as he asked, squirting more sunscreen into his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

“How old are you anyway?” Near had asked once, tying Stephen's wrists to the bedposts with a few of his ties.

“Too young to be your daddy kink,” Stephen answered. “How old are you?”

“Too old to care,” Near said, securing Stephen in with bowline knots. “Don't worry about it. I've got more uni degrees than you.”

 

* * *

 

 

He kept his prescription bottles stacked in pyramids along his bedroom wall. His mother tried to throw it out weekly. Most of the labels on the pyramids were the same, various SSRIs. All were empty.

When he ran low and his monthly pad fill was too slow, Near counted on his friends. It was how he had first met them actually, behind his old school's parking lot trading drugs for booze, booze for phone numbers, phone numbers for quickies in bathroom stalls.

He didn't have any booze and his phone was busted, but he did have a big empty house, absent parental figures and absenter neighbours.

 

* * *

 

 

He can't remember a lot of his childhood. Most of it's a blur of in-take programs, therapy sessions with doctors that always ended with notepads filled out, getting the best grades in the entire sick kid ward, and hearing other patients wandering the halls ask if he's a ghost.

His father, when he was around, was pretty sure Near was going to die before growing up. He would coddle Near with toys whenever Near could visit home. His mother pitched in too, in her own way. Near would find bottles of liquid vitamin C scattered on the kitchen table, and his meals always tasted like lemons.

 

* * *

 

 

“I'm banging that,” Near said, over the din of Tekken and pointing through the glass door at Stephen, who was cleaning the pool.

“Ew,” Matt said, his mouth full of cheetoes, wiping his orange-stained hands on the white leather couch.

Mello paused the game. Matt screamed.

“How big's his dick?” Mello asked, knuckles white, his gaze coolly scrutinizing the way Stephen bent over, his pale pink knee length shorts not riding up at all. “His ass ain't all that.”

“Not as big as yours,” Near promised, and that seemed to appease Mello, who unpaused to Matt's cheers of relief.

“Guess we can't do this anymore though,” Mello said, nipping a kiss, but Near shakes his head.

“I don't mind that. I just don't think I can do that anymore,” Near said, gesturing to L, who was the only one not lazed back on the couch, busy kneeling in front of Beyond and sucking him off.

“Fair enough,” Mello said.

 

* * *

 

 

The fence was too tall to jump, but with Stephen's tented hands supporting his feet, Near could reach high enough to pull himself over. Stephen followed after.

It wasn't quite like the lovestruck moonlight skinnydipping he's seen in the 80's teen movies his mother used to collect on VHS. Neither of them went full nude. Stephen even brought along a swimming float, a pink and floral plastic doughnut that fits around Near's waist snugly.

Near waded, never straying from the walls of the public pool. Night makes it easier to swim in front of someone else, especially since he couldn't see anything, except for the neon glow of a Coke vending machine near the locked change rooms. Stephen swam beside him. They talked about easy things, like the new seasons of cartoons they keep up with, how well Near was doing with his meds, how hungover Near's mother looked that morning; they held hands underwater, not addressing the tremor running down Near's body and the occasional shaky gasps Near makes, his head above water and the night air filling his lungs.

 

* * *

 

 

They break up a few months after Stephen divorced his mother. It doesn't ache in the way he thinks it should, but maybe it's because Stephen still skypes him from Washington D.C., sends him snapchats of him interning in the White House, sexts during board meetings. Fooling around on webcam is nice, and Near tells Stephen when he breaks up with him.

“So let's keep doing it then,” had been Stephen's reply, so that was that.

Near keeps a few of his not-dad/not-boyfriend's ties in his closet, the rest of his clothes vaccum-sealed in a bag under his bed. Stephen's gifts still get plenty of his attention, but his knee indents in the foam mats are unsinking themselves.

He's started to swim with his mother on Sunday afternoons, sharing brunch and glasses of lemonade. They don't talk much, but she teaches him backstroke while she blabbers and he reminds her to re-apply her sunscreen after swimming.

The skate park is still his favourite place, where there are depths and curves like swimming pools, except the emptiness is natural and preferred, the hard wipeouts on concrete celebrated. There are less cats. Near supposes the ones who needed him have had their fill, and are back home rubbing against the legs of their rightful owners. He doesn't miss them much anyway.

 

 


End file.
